


Later

by orphean



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Flashbacks, Love Confessions, M/M, Polyamory, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:53:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27648463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphean/pseuds/orphean
Summary: After Jon leaves, Clark goes to find Bruce for a long-overdue conversation.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent
Comments: 8
Kudos: 65





	Later

**Author's Note:**

> this was the second-ever Superbat fic I started. It only took me seven months to finish this tiny tiny fic lol. It’s set post-Superman (2018) #16 I guess, but I also hadn’t read that issue when I started this, so. The conversation with Jon that Clark refers to is canon (though just slightly paraphrased) and from Superman #4. However, no knowledge of these comics is needed!
> 
> today has been a long and somewhat difficult day for me, and maybe for you, too, so please enjoy this softness <3

Superman knows where to find him. Even if he didn’t use his calm heart like a beacon, Batman had told the League about his current case, about the brewing war between Falcone and Black Mask’s men. He finds him perched on the lip of the parapet, still as a gargoyle, a pair of high-tech binoculars against his eyes. Superman touches down on the ledge, soundless, and sits down next to him – close enough to touch, if he were to reach out. He doesn’t.

‘Hi.’ Clark says.

Maybe Bruce narrows his eyes behind the lead-lined mask. Maybe there is the smallest twitch of the corner of his mouth. But, no, Bruce says nothing.

‘Jon left today.’ Clark adds after a couple of minutes of silence. ‘Again.’

‘I heard.’ In each interaction with him, Batman’s voice always wrongfoots Clark for a moment, all gravel and fury, before he’s able to recalibrate the voice in his head. ‘Damian said.’

Bruce is in a good mood, then. If he’s willing to say Robin’s civilian name, he has to be.

‘Is he okay?’

Clark had been meaning to talk to Damian – to make sure that he was doing okay, to ensure that Damian was holding on, despite losing his best friend to the whims of time and space. One part of Clark tells him that of course he’s fine, because he’s _Damian_ and because he’s _Bruce’s son_. Another part tells him that he’s _not_ fine, for the exact same reasons.

‘He will be.’ Bruce tenses and relaxes his shoulders, as close to a shrug as the Batman would ever allow himself. ‘Why are you here? Why aren’t you with Lois?’

It is a fair question. And he had been with Lois all day. Jon had left after lunch, and Lois hadn’t cried once since. She had cried before, both with Jon there and without. In the middle of a step, she had started crying in a Target wine aisle and kicked the boxed wines in frustration. But since Jon had gone, she hadn’t shed a tear. She had sat on the sofa, her mouth and nose covered by her steepled hands, staring at nothing. She had puttered around the kitchen: clearing the fridge of food past its best-by date; cleaning the sink; mopping the floor. Clark had stayed on the sofa and watched her work, trying to think of ways to help and coming up empty. In the end she had asked him to go, to do something, to not just sit there. She loved him, but she needed to be alone. And Clark – Clark had realised he needed to talk to Bruce.

‘She needed to be alone. And I –’ if Bruce would get mad, this is where it would happen, ‘I wanted to see you.’

‘ _Hm_.’ Bruce glances at him, barely moving his eyes from the binoculars.

‘What are you looking for?’

‘A truce. Or the start of a gang war.’ Batman puts down the binoculars and attaches them to his utility belt. He moves his head from side to side. Clark can hear the _crick_ of his neck. ‘Nothing is happening yet.’

They sit in silence together, Batman in an elegant crouch, Superman with his feet dangling off the parapet.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ Clark begins, and he hears Bruce sigh. ‘About Jon. Things he’s said. I was thinking about this one thing he said, before. Before he – before he grew up.’

‘Mh.’ Batman’s small sound is the barest intimation of interest.

‘He asked me if I care about you the way I care about Lois.’

If Bruce had been sitting still before, it is nothing like now, every muscle stiff. His eyes still focused on the scene taking place under the streetlights, Bruce swallows and squares his jaw.

‘What did you tell him?’ 

Clark’s fingers brush against the suit, and Bruce releases a sharp exhale. He remembers just as well as Clark does.

The first time it had happened was years ago, before Jon was born. Clark had initiated it. They had just come back from a diplomatic mission that had gone all wrong, and the blood dripped when they walked. Still, they were both happy: the monsters had been defeated; peace had been secured. They had succeeded and the people they had helped were _grateful_. Clark felt like his heart was floating.

So he kissed Bruce.

As soon as they were alone, before they had started stripping out of their uniforms for the long and hot showers the Watchtower was somehow able to provide, Clark had closed those final two feet between them and kissed him.

He kissed him once. Twice.

And Bruce staggered back as though he had been hit.

 _You’re married. What about your wife?_ His cowl was pushed back, and Bruce’s eyes were wide. His mouth hung open, and Clark couldn’t remember if it had always been that beautiful and red.

Clark tried to explain, tried to say: _It’s fine. We’ve talked about it. Lois knows about this and she doesn’t mind_. This was true: they had spoken about this at length, Lois drawing boundaries and staking claim and smiling at Clark and saying that she got it. Unlike Clark, she had never seemed to think that Bruce would reject him.

Bruce was still staring at Clark when he touched his ear and called Lois. Clark took a step closer, but Bruce’s hand was raised, a finger held up in warning. Clark could hear Lois on the other line, cautiously worried.

 _I need to talk about your husband_. Bruce said in a flat tone. Clark couldn’t hear Lois’ response from the roaring of blood in his ear, the sudden embarrassment overwhelming all of his senses. Bruce had paused, listened to Lois, started talking again. Clark blinked and listened: – _permission. Lois, I’m not going to–_

Clark couldn’t focus on the words Lois said on the other end, but he could hear the tone, the kind laughter in her words.

And then Bruce was kissing him. Joyful and eager and sweeter than honey, Bruce held him close, grabbing fistfuls of cape and smiling against Clark’s lips. 

They never really talked about it. But it happened again. A second time. A third. A fifth. An eleventh. A twenty-sixth. Then Clark told the League that he was going to be a father, and everyone had smiled with congratulations. Later, Clark had put his hand on Bruce’s forearm and Bruce stepped back.

_You’re about to be a father. There are others who need you more._

A surprisingly kind rejection. They didn’t talk about it more than that. Until tonight.

Clark looks at Bruce’s profile and remembers how the sharp nose of the cowl would dig against his cheek when they kissed.

‘I should have told him the truth.’ Clark tries not to read anything into the slight tightness around Bruce’s mouth or the fact that Bruce had picked up his binoculars again. ‘I should have told him that I love you like I love Lois.’

Leather creaks when Bruce tightens his grip on the binoculars.

‘You can’t say that. She’s your _wife_.’

‘And you’re my best friend.’ Clark doesn’t reach out to touch Bruce. ‘I love you.’

‘It’s been more than a decade, Clark.’ Bruce says Clark’s name in an exhale.

‘And I still hold a candle for you. Isn’t that something?’

Bruce turns his head and looks at Clark.

‘Why are you telling me this?’ Bruce could have said it cruelly, but he says it softly, quietly. He’s nervous, Clark realises, biting his lower lip.

‘There’s so much I never said to Jon. Then he went away – for a few weeks, I thought. Then, when he came back he’d been through nightmares I couldn’t imagine. I missed out on seeing my boy grow up. I’ve missed so much. And when he came back, I realised I didn’t want to miss things because I was too scared to tell the truth.’ Clark dares to reach out, brushing his thumb over Bruce’s chin, his cheek. ‘I love you, and if you would have me, I want to try again.’

‘And Lois?’ Bruce asks, barely leaning into Clark’s touch.

‘You can call her if you want. But she doesn’t mind.’

Bruce doesn’t move away when Clark defies gravity to move closer, nor when Clark tilts Bruce face towards him with an index finger and leans in, Clark’s mouth millimetres from Bruce’s and–

‘Black Mask’s men are carrying explosives,’ Clark whispers, suddenly hearing the henchmens’ murmuring. ‘They’re going to blow up the building.’

Bruce’s mouth crushes against Clark’s, quixotic and hard.

‘We’ll continue this conversation when this is over,’ he growls before throwing himself off the parapet.

Clark still feels the ghost of his lips when he watches Bruce soar through the sky, descending like a dark angel, unfearing and proud. Later, they will talk.


End file.
